


Halloween Gets Lit (On Fire)

by atlas_of_galaxies



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alcohol, Fire, Gen, Smoking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_of_galaxies/pseuds/atlas_of_galaxies
Summary: With a little help from his Squip, Rich finds a way to make Jake's Halloween party a lot more lit.





	Halloween Gets Lit (On Fire)

**Rich.**

Through the buzz and fury of the alcohol setting his blood on fire, he hears a voice in his head unlike any others at the party.

**Rich.**

Again, it speaks, the sound like the crackle of ice cubes in a glass as it's filled with water. Normally, it's a calming, soothing anchor in his flurry of a life, but now it's just another note, another tone that only adds to the cacophony of the party.

**Rich.**

He just barely stops himself from responding to his Squip out loud; a rookie mistake. _What do you want?_ Perhaps it's good that he shouldn't speak with his normal, human voice. He's so inebriated he may not even sound coherent.

**Rich, you need to find a cigarette.**

Somehow, no matter how loud his surroundings are, his Squip always seems to be the most deafening sound in his ears, drowning out everything else as if it's the most important factor in his life--

**I** **_am_ ** **the most important factor in your life. Now go find a cigarette.**

This isn't the first time Rich has been tempted to cuss out the supercomputer in his brain, to tell it kindly to fuck off as he steals away into some corner of the house to make out with someone. Maybe the downstairs bathroom is empty; he just needs a girl as drunk as he is (which may be difficult to find) and a bit more booze--

 **No, no more booze. Cigarette. Now.**  
  
He can feel a whine rising in his throat, which he suppresses, with difficulty. **Whining is a one-way ticket to being classified as Unscrewable. You do not want to be Unscrewable.** He can feel one of his Squip's many lessons creep into his mind; whether he thought of it himself at that moment or the device put it there for him, it's hard to tell. Their thoughts are so intertwined, the line between their separate entities sometimes gets blurred.

 _Yeah, right, I know, cigarettes_ , he fills in for the Squip, as if he can hear it take a mechanical breath, ready to dominate his brain with its next command. _I don't know why you want me to smoke so badly, but whatever._ The supercomputer remains curiously silent. Even as the house shakes with the beat of the bass and the loudspeakers that seem to inhabit every corner vibrate so furiously they look like they're about to burst, Rich's world feels quiet in the absence of his Squip's voice.

It's not hard for him to find a supplier; there's just about every drug known to mankind at this party, and it feels as if he's tried them all. And it's not even 3 am yet.

Rich catches a light from some kid he knows from Chemistry last year, but he can't quite remember his name. 

Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, since his Squip's favorite pastime is cataloging literally everyone he knows and neatly sorting them all into tidy little file cabinets with various labels slapped over them - FRIENDS, SQUIPPED PERSONS, HOOK-UPS - and the list goes on and on. The name Jared dances on the tip of his tongue as he thanks him for the fuel for his smoke, but he decides to play it safe and let his Squip go through his cabinet titled PEERS THAT CAN CONNECT YOU WITH DRUGS.

But he feels no tickle in his brain, no nudging around his hippocampus for the correct name for this kid. His Squip's voice is absent, once again.

This should have keyed him in on the fact that his Squip is not functioning properly that evening. If he had taken notice of its silence, maybe everything that happened afterwards could have been prevented.

Instead, Rich shrugs and takes a drag from the cigarette.

Sharp glass floods his mouth and filters down his throat to his lungs; the smoke curls up there, crackling and hissing like a dragon defending its keep. Even as he exhales, he feels the poisoned air lurking within him, refusing to leave the body it's so graciously made its home in.

He's never been a fan of smoking - he's more of an alcohol kind of dude - but the fog that inhabits his airways is, at the moment, just another way to escape the world, so he can't complain.

He settles down on the couch, filling the room with his breath. The party has thinned out by this point in time, and he hasn't seen Jeremy for hours. Maybe that's for the best; two drunk Squips interacting would get ... messy.

The room he's in is largely empty, except for maybe-Jared on the recliner a couple feet away. He's stoned out of his mind, so he wouldn't make much for conversation.

Instead, Rich turns to the voice in his head.

 _Okay, I got the cigarette,_ he thinks with as much aggression as he can muster at his Squip. _What now?_ He lets out a harsh breath. The smoke floods his face and makes his eyes water, tickling his throat and trying to get him to cough. 

**Curtain.**

_I'm sorry?_ What did his Squip just say to him? Did it just curse at him in some language, and that swear sounds vaguely like the English word "curtain"?

**I'm talking about the English word "curtain", Rich. Go over to it. Stand by it.**

_What? Why?_ His brain is starting to feel fuzzy, like that weird, charged feeling the air has during a thunderstorm in the late summer evening, where everything feels muted and yellow. Every sound comes at him through a thick cloth over his ears except for his Squip's voice; that's still clear as day.

**Don't ask. Just go.**

The device's curious demands make him feel like a freshman again, when he had no idea why his Squip was suggesting that he should _buy this_ or _say that._ But whenever he followed its commands, things would always turn out well for him; it shouldn't be any different now, right?

With a grunt, he forces himself up from the couch, being careful to keep his cigarette away from the upholstery. He makes his way towards the window with the drapery drawn over it so that no one can look in from the outside and see a bunch of teenagers drinking, smoking, and doing just about every drug in existence.

Maybe-Jared doesn't make a single move in response to him; he must be _really_ far gone.

Rich ignores the inebriated teen and reaches the curtain. He reaches out a hand and grips it to steady his short stature. The texture is soft, like cotton. 

Then, with a startle, the Squipped boy gets the impression that he should _not_ be holding a lit cigarette so close to these highly flammable-looking curtains.

 _Why am I here?_ he asks the supercomputer in his mind, wondering if it can sense his unease at this whole situation. Probably.

**Put the cigarette close to those curtains.**

_..... What?_

**Cigarette. Curtains. Now.**

_What the_ fuck _\--_

**You have not had any issues with following my instructions for 613 days, 21 hours, 3 minutes, and 47 seconds. Why are you breaking this streak now?**

_Because you're telling me to put something that's_ on fire _right next to this_ flammable _fabric--_

**Set the curtains on fire.**

Of course, he had understood what the Squip's intentions were the moment it started putting "cigarette" and "curtain" in the same virtual sentence, but as that five-word phrase bounces around his mind, seeming to amplify with every impact against his skull, Rich feels physically ill.

 _I need to turn you off,_ the teen thinks at his device, chills running down his spine.

**You don't want to turn me off. You need me for this.**

_No I don't, you're freaking the hell outta me--_

**Set a fire, Rich. It's the best way to make a party more, as your generation calls it, _lit._**

_Fuck off I am_ not _applauding you for that pun._ Even as he talks back to his Squip, his blood is burning, his heart is about to jump out of his chest, the smoke that still lingers in his lungs is expanding, filling his airway, choking him, _killing_ him--

**Start a fire.**

_No._

**No one will know it was you, Jared --** _I knew that was his name_ **\-- over there is too baked to even know you're in here, people will just think someone left a cigarette unattended and it set the house aflame. No one will know.**

_I'm not setting a fire in my friend's house!!_

**He needs it. Jake hates his parents. The best thing he can do to piss them off is by destroying the place he's been forced to live in with them all his life. It will be a good change.**

_No it won't it's going to hurt people it's going to hurt JAKE IT'S GOING TO HURT SO MANY PEOPLE--_

**Rich.**

_WHAT._

**Don't raise your voice at me. Take three deep breaths.**

_FUCK YOU._

**That's one.**

_I HATE YOU._

**Two.**

_SHUTDOWN._

His Squip doesn't make it to three.

His body still feels like it's burning and freezing at the same time. He leans against the wall, limbs shaking. Sweat shines on his face. He tries to breathe out a sigh of relief, but his airway is still clogged with smoke, and he just coughs feebly. But it's something.

He's alright. His Squip is off - he was an idiot for leaving it on while he was drinking, an idiot for experimenting with how far he could push the supercomputer - and he's safe. No threat of fire.

Rich mops his face with his hands, feeling faint. Maybe Jake will let him crash on his bed for a while. Hopefully with all the windows open and the fan going full-blast. It's hot as hell in here.

He steps away from the curtains, from the site where he almost ruined everyone's Halloween night. He wrings out his hands and shakes out his shoulders. Is a side effect of the Squip making you ache all over? 'Cause he feels super stiff right now.

He cracks his knuckles in the middle of the room with satisfaction, and the sound reaches his ears with a pleasant clarity. All the drugs and shit he took seem to be wearing off a little.

He reaches into his pocket to feel for his phone so he can text Jake and request if he can stay over - even though he's not even gonna wait for him to respond before he goes upstairs and crashes - and opens up their text conversation --

Wait a second.

Where's his cigarette?

His blood returns to freezing temperatures as he slowly turns around, the whole world feeling like it's come to a stand-still.

The curtains are on fire.

His phone falls to the floor with a muffled _thump_ against the carpet.

Rich wastes no time in turning his Squip back on. It speaks before he has a chance to yell at it in a frenzied panic.  

**I see you took my advice. Good job, Rich.**

"What do I do?!" he shouts out loud, not even caring if anyone hears him. The flames consuming the curtains like hungry animals seem to be more concerning at the moment, anyway.

When the device remains silent, he cries out again. "What the hell do I _do?!"_  A sob hitches his voice. His throat feels raw from yelling and from the smoke - which there is now a lot more of, unfortunately.

**Run away.**

"What?!"

**Get out of there, now. Shout "Fire!" on the way out.**

"I'm not --" A choking sob takes over his shout again. "I'm not abandoning everyone in here!"

**You're not. You'll be the first one to tell everyone that there's a fire. You'll be a hero.**

"But I'm the one who _started_ it!!"

**We already went over this. _Nobody will know._**

"For something that's supposed to make my life better, you're doing a pretty shitty job!" He then promptly turns off his Squip before it can respond.

The fire in front of him is spreading at an alarming rate; it's finished off the curtains with an intimidating crackle and moved onto the couch Rich was sitting on only a few minutes ago. It won't be long till the whole room is set aflame.

And then, the whole house.

He whirls around, his whole body feeling slick from fear and heat. His eyes focus on Jared, still passed out on the recliner, only a few flame licks away from being consumed, himself.

Rich stumbles over to him, the alcohol in his system returning with a vengeance to trip him up. When he reaches the teen, he grips his arm, his hand nearly sliding off him from the slippery layer of sweat upon it. He speaks, and his voice sounds far away and foreign, so distant from the reality that he's in: that he's in his best friend's house, which was just set aflame by yours truly.

"Jared, wake up!! There's a fire!!"

**Author's Note:**

> pssst did you catch the Dear Evan Hansen reference I threw in there a couple times
> 
> EDIT: tfw u realize u fucked up cuz u had Rich drinking and smoking when in The Smartphone Hour they make it a point to show that he didn't touch anything. fuck.  
> just. pretend this is from the book I guess. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
